


a little parenthesis in eternity

by katsukifatale (TrumpetGeek)



Series: travelogue [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Fluff, Future Fic, Introspection, M/M, Marriage, Melancholy, Romance, Travel, in this fic we go to: italy, this is the start of a travel series because why not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 07:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13970397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrumpetGeek/pseuds/katsukifatale
Summary: There is an art to being lost in Venice — something Yuuri discovers as he and Viktor pick their way through the labyrinthine alleyways and canals. Something lonely, too, and beautiful, and delicate. Something timeless and temporary.





	a little parenthesis in eternity

**Author's Note:**

> written for [heartbeats](https://heartbeatszine.tumblr.com/), a yuri on ice zine about the different types of love. 
> 
> i rly enjoy writing abt my travel experiences so even tho the fandom is chock full of travel fics i am adding my voice to the cacophony starting with: a three-shot set in italy! the fics in this series will be based on my own personal experiences traveling to these locations so i hope you find something unique in them!

 

 

 

 

_ we have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share. this is a precious moment. it is a little parenthesis in eternity. _ -paulo coelho

 

* * *

 

 

 

There is an art to being lost in Venice — something Yuuri discovers as he and Viktor pick their way through the labyrinthine alleyways and canals. Something lonely, too, and beautiful, and delicate. Something timeless and temporary.

 

It’s the little things, like how there are no straight paths from one place to another, and the happy accident of discovering family-owned handmade pasta shops, and the temporary quietude that comes from the sound of water lapping at the bottom of doorways and staircases that lead down into its murky depths.

 

It’s the brightly colored flower he finds when they turn down yet another dead end, draped over a lone window sill at the back of someone’s home, and all of the canals that wind their way around buildings and under bridges only to gently push against a brick barrier, going nowhere.

 

It’s the fact that they have crossed what must be hundreds of bridges in pursuit of Piazza San Marco, and have not seen any two that are alike.

 

It’s the loneliness of moving away from the Grand Canal, where Yuuri can no longer hear the murmurs of the crowd or the soft hum of the water taxis, where the glittering jewels and pastel facades disappear.

 

Venice, which floats on water as if it had risen up from the Adriatic itself, and which waits to sink back into the depths of its own watery grave, is beautiful.

 

It reminds him of Viktor, if he’s being honest.

 

Viktor, his sweet husband who still sometimes wears the remnants of his loneliness on his sleeve, who still sometimes looks so melancholily sad when he thinks no one is looking. Viktor, who still sometimes forgets he doesn’t need to retreat behind the facade of media-friendly, fan-ready smiles and aloofness, who still sometimes reacts to Yuuri’s touches likes a man starved. Viktor, who sometimes still looks at Yuuri with so much amazement that Yuuri wants to kiss quiet contentment into his skin until his cheeks glow like pink flowers.

 

Somewhere across the city a bell tolls the hour, and Viktor turns to him, his eyes sad and his heart-shaped mouth pulled down in disappointment. Yuuri reaches up absently, wishing he could brush away his husband’s despair with his soft touch. His hand is rough from the ice they’d left just a week earlier, but Viktor leans into his palm anyway, his eyelids fluttering as Yuuri’s thumb sweeps beneath his lashes.

 

“Vitya?”

 

“I’m so sorry, Yuuri,” he says sadly, breath warm on Yuuri’s skin. “We missed our reservation for the Saint Mark’s tour.”

 

“Oh Vitya, it’s okay. Look,” he says, fumbling with his phone one-handed. He pulls up the Saint Mark’s website and hands it over. “It says the bell tower is still open for a few more hours.”

 

Viktor nods but frowns down at his shoes, his hands curling themselves into loose fists at his sides. “I just really wanted you to enjoy your first time here.”

 

(Another thing Viktor sometimes forgets is that he doesn’t have to work so hard to impress him, or be the perfect husband to keep him. Yuuri’s been his, wholly and completely, the moment he laid eyes on him and every moment since.)

 

“I’m here with you, I  _ am _ enjoying my time,” Yuuri says firmly, reaching down to thread Viktor’s fingers with his. Viktor makes noises of protest but Yuuri silences them with a squeeze of his hand, thumb brushing his wedding ring. “Vitya, you know that I don’t care what we do as long as we’re doing it together.”

 

Viktor looks at him for a long, quiet moment and says, very softly, “me, too.”

 

When Yuuri leans up Viktor meets him in the middle, just like he always has. Alone in their little corner of Venice Yuuri kisses his husband slow and sweet and somehow manages to fall more in love with him through each second.

 

“Come on,” Viktor says a little breathlessly, tugging Yuuri’s hand, blue eyes sparkling. “Let’s keep going.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“No,” he says, laughing. Viktor’s eyes crinkle in the corners in response. “Lead the way.”

 

There’s an art to being lost in Venice, Yuuri thinks, and follows.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hey thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this pls consider following the series for more ~~sporadic~~ updates!
> 
> btw you can find me at my writing blog [@trumpet-geek](http://trumpet-geek.tumblr.com/)or my main blog [@katsukifatale](http)!


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